


all sinners are vessels of virtue

by bistiles (alis)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Detective Derek Hale, Detective Stiles, M/M, Misgendering, Murder Mystery, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alis/pseuds/bistiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles moves to New York City from San Francisco after accepting the perfect job offer. He has been hired to work as part of a special team. </p><p>Upon arrival, he meets his new partner, Detective Derek Hale, a force veteran (Who is so attractive, Stiles, is ashamed to admit he might be having recurring unprofessional thoughts about him).  Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek and he start off on the wrong foot. Derek has a thing against Stiles' smart mouth, but more so, he hates Stiles' prejudices against supernaturals.</p><p>When a body of a murdered prostitute is found, with the same M.O. as several others from before Stiles arrived, turns up, the Medical Examiner notices something odd, something that makes him contact Derek. Once they get a hold of her autopsy report, they realize every single one of these victims had been a Supernatural of some kind. However, unlike with the other cases, something about this case that stands out. </p><p>Can they solve the case and escape with their lives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to New York

**Author's Note:**

> **[Arts will be added a bit later on, sit tight. Also, please, pay attention to the tags, as they'll change later on]**
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>  _Please, do not post or share this work on Goodreads or any other platform that isn't Archive of Our Own._  
>   
> 
> This fic will be posted one chapter a week. Hopefully, I'll manage that without a hitch. Also let me know if there's any tags or warnings missing. Thank you!

**CHAPTER 1**

 

Stiles looked at the departure board at LAX, trying to find his flight. It was on time, according to his ticket, and by on time he mean the should be boarding the plane, but that wasn’t what was happening, oh no. He was still away from his gate, trying to sprint through the crowd. Huffing, Stiles rolled his suitcase, excusing himself, as he dodged people. Well. Tried to. He was sure he had just rolled over some woman’s foot, and he bumped into so many people he was already saying ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ on autopilot. Still, politeness had no place, not when his freaking plane was about to take off without him. He passed by another departure board, silently praying for it to be still there. It was.

** Destination NYC. Gate 104. Time 10:05A. Boarding.  **

Nodding to himself, Stiles pulled his carry-on after him. He had checked in already, and the rest of his baggage– what he could bring with himself– was already sent away. He hoped to God that it wouldn't be missing, even if he had put everything under insurance, he would rather not lose years of acquired possessions because of a mistake. Still, the important things, the ones he couldn't even imagine losing, he asked his dad to handle.

They were safely boxed away back in Beacon Hills, with the rest of his possessions he just didn't have the space to bring with him. Parting with his things wasn’t easy, but Stiles wasn't so stressed out about it, knowing they were in his dad's care.

He finally arrived to the gate, and there was a small queue at the gate he was supposed to board. Stiles sighed in open relief that he still had the time, and went through the security procedures with a smile. It was slightly annoying, especially when the security went slower than ever on a guy with a turban. After a while, Stiles noticed a TSA agent taking the man aside, and a woman in front of Stiles sighed quietly in relief, muttering about _security_. Stiles glared at the back of her head, holding a scathing retort, and hoped he wouldn't sit close to her. He took some pleasure though, at getting the chance to bump her on accident.

He boarded the plane, looking for his seat, while waiting for other passengers to do the same. He found his seat, and put his carry-on the designated place, before sitting down and buckling up. Only then did he allow himself to take a breath- and then to tense up all over again.

It wasn't, by any means, Stiles’ first flight. He had traveled before, mostly on vacation, back when he was still at college. As any other young adult, Stiles had enjoyed traveling with his classmates and getting into all sorts of trouble that would make incredible stories for him to tell in the future. It also would give his father a heart attack if Stiles ever told him, which was exactly why Stiles would hold them for a long, long time.

Still, this time it wasn't just a vacation. This was moving to another state for work, and while Stiles had moved around few times in the past, this felt monumental somehow. Maybe because it _was_ the first time he would be moving out of California. Maybe because it was for work. Or even because Stiles was moving to the other side of the country, to New York City.

It was scary, Stiles thought as the flight attendants gave the security instructions, that, for the first time, he would be too far from everything he knew. His hometown wouldn't be a (long) drive away. He would need to check for timezones before calling his dad, so he won't wake him up in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t be as easy for Scott to spend the weekend with Stiles anymore, because the plane tickets were actually expensive.

“Please, sir, fasten your seatbelt,” a smiling flight attendant instructed, and Stiles startled. He was so deep in thought, he hadn't paid attention.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” As Stiles adjusted his seatbelt, he realized that his life was changing for good. No more Scott. No more Dad. He would be _alone_. He looked up at the flight attendant. She was cute, “Hey, there. Safety first, right?”

He smiled, and the flight attendant smiled back, a little more hesitant.

“Maybe you could show me how to fasten my seatbelt up close and personal, hm?” Stiles winked at her, throwing what he considered a charming smirk.

The flight attendant kept smiling, as she leaned over him – nice cleavage, Stiles noticed, – and took hold of the seatbelt. Still smiling, she pulled it, tightening it up in one sudden motion. Stiles ooph’ed in pain, eyes huge. He looked at her and saw she was still smiling as she righted herself and said in a pleasant voice.

“Right, sir. Let us know if you need anything else. I’ll be _happy_ to help.” And she sauntered away, to the next passenger.

Scratch scary. Flights were downright _terrifying_ , Stiles thought, as he eased the seatbelt so it wasn’t crushing his bladder.

The plane took off, and Stiles closed his eyes, clutching the armrest. He was never more glad for not having someone by his side, as he was then, while scrunching his face in abject fear. Airplanes always made him painfully aware of how easy it was to die, and although Stiles already had a good number of close calls in his life, he was still not ready to die. At all. Especially not while inside a metal deathtrap with nowhere to run with crushing pressure from the air around him, and the very real chance of dying in a fiery ball of molten metal.

Nope. Not going there. Not thinking of that.

After a while, the passengers were cleared to take off their seatbelts, and use their devices in airplane mode. Stiles, glad for the distraction, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and started to go through the details of his new life in New York.

Receiving that job opportunity had been a surprise for him. Stiles had been promoted to detective barely a year before, after two years working as a cop, when he received a letter from NYPD offering him a position in a special force. At first, he thought it had been nothing but a prank from his colleagues, but a couple of emails showed him that, i the job opportunity was, in fact, real. A position as a detective in New York was more than Stiles expected so soon in his career – in fact, it exceeded even his most wild predictions for the next five years. He had been fairly excited at getting his promotion in LAPD, so much he had reconsidered moving back to Beacon Hills and working under his father. But as it was, life had something else entirely planned for him.

Stiles thumbed through the email, checking once again the time and date for his first shift. It would be the day after, and Stiles would have roughly a day to unpack the most essential things and acclimate himself to his new apartment in Harlem, before meeting his new coworkers. Anxious, Stiles reread the email for the third time in the past ten minutes, almost committing everything to memory. He already knew his direct superior's name, Marin Morrell, and knew at least the name of one of his coworkers, detective Derek S. Hale. Stiles bit his index finger's nail. He wondered if they would accept him; his first weeks at LAPD had been… Hard. Stiles wasn't an easy person to get used to; he knew that. He talked too much, people said, and he also had a peculiar sense of humor. More often than not, Stiles would be described as annoying, and he knew he was. He also mostly didn't care.

Except this was his big job. A big chance to build a very promising career. Stiles was _anxious_.

When looking at the email lost its appeal and started doing nothing to appease Stiles' inner struggle, he decided it was time for a nap. He had several hours of flight ahead of him; he should get some rest. Taking his headphones off his neck and placing them atop his head, he plugged them into his phone, then started a playlist.

Stiles fell asleep as Taylor Swift welcomed him to New York.

 

##

 

"Sir? Sir, please wake up. We're about to land."

Stiles startled awake, several hours later, with a damp spot on his shirt from where he had drooled and a crick in his neck. There was a gentle hand on his shoulder, and, when he looked up, there was a flight attendant looking at him, talking about landing and seatbelts. Stiles nodded in a daze, as the same attendant from before shuffled away, with a slightly disgusted expression on her face. Stiles cleaned the drool off on the back of his hand and fastened the seatbelt, resigned that he made a terrible impression on her. Whatever. Stiles had, apparently, slept through the entire flight. He was more tired than he had thought.

He went mechanically through the airport procedures and then waited for his luggage, blinking sleepily at the rolling bags. He pulled all his things, adjusted his huge backpack, and went to find himself a cab. Luckily, it was easier to find a cab than he thought it would be, and Stiles sighed in relief. He was dying for a shower.

Stiles got inside the car, and the first thing he realized was that he really should have looked for public transportation. Because the car _reeked_ of what seemed a killer combination of vomit and Cheetos, and Stiles suppressed the need to gag.

"Where to, Sir?" the driver asked, with a heavy accent, features set into a scowl. He sounded from east Europe, if Stiles was to guess.

“Oh my– Hm. To 138th St, Harlem, please,” Stiles stuttered, having already memorized the address after rereading it on the plane. He was silently willing his brain to stop noticing that awful smell inside the car.

The man nodded, pulling the car away from the sidewalk and into the traffic. The movement helped, air going inside the car and making it more bearable.

"So, traffic look intense, huh?"

The cab driver grunted in response, sounding completely uninterested into Stiles.

"I mean, I’ve been here before,” Stiles commented, unbothered by the cab driver silence, “I don’t remember much about the traffic, though; I mostly went around using the subway."

Stiles had been to New York before, couple of years prior. Vacations with his ex-boyfriend. They had done the whole tourist thing together, went to Broadway, visited the Empire State building, enjoyed the nightlife the city had to offer them. They also broke up two days before heading back, and Stiles went back to their rented apartment to find all his stuff in the building's corridor. Changing his plane tickets had been costly.

"I'm moving here, actually," Stiles kept going, undeterred by the cab driver resolute silence, “Guess I better get used to this, yeah?”

He only got a noncommittal grunt as an answer, and Stiles decided against pushing for a small talk that was obviously not coming. Stiles fidgeted, feeling restless, as the cab driver drove slowly through the streets. Stiles locked and unlocked his phone few times, before deciding that staying silent wasn’t doing it for him.

“Do you know any good places to buy furniture? Maybe some appliances? I mean, I haven’t seen my new place yet, but I’m not feeling optimistic about it? I mean, I’ll be lucky if I wasn’t cheated on the deal.”

"Yeah? I can tell you good places, then. For buying things. Cheap stores around," The driver said in his heavy accent, and Stiles silently cheered that he was finally communicating back.

"That would be cool, man."

“Are you going there now?”

“Eh?” Stiles frowned, blinking confusedly, “No?

“Then I don’t know any places.”

Stiles stared, open mouthed, as the driver just kept going, looking completely unfazed by his rudeness. Stiles knew he was chatty, and that his incessant talk could be annoying, but damn.

The traffic was heavy, but manageable, and seeing as he wasn’t going to strike up any conversation with the driver, Stiles allowed himself to pay attention to the scenery instead. He didn't know the city, not as he knew Los Angeles or Beacon Hills anyway, but it still didn't feel overwhelmingly different. The streets were busy, there were a lot of people coming and going, and sure, it would be a while before he managed to feel not lost, but he could do it.

He hoped so, at least.

Stiles fiddled with his phone, took some pictures of the streets, and sent them to Scott and his dad, hoping for a reply. He got one from Scott, a picture of four tiny puppies, and a bigger dog that Stiles assumed being the mother, and the caption “ **SAY HELLO TO THE BABIES!** ” Stiles chuckled to himself, smiling at his screen as another picture followed, this time showing half of Scott’s face and the baby puppies at his side.

> **> SCOTTY:** hows nyc finest finest cop??? already there?

**< ME:** nah not yet. dealin with a moody cab driver

all but told me to shut up >:(

> **> SCOTTY: ** ruuude. ur ramblin is the best

**< ME:** im sensing sarcasm, scott, am i????

> **> SCOTTY:** noooooo neeeever ;)))

**> SCOTTY:** here have another puppy

Stiles laughed as another picture of the puppies arrived on his phone, this time with them being licked by their dutiful mom.

> **> SCOTTY: ** what the cab driver doin?

**< ME:** …… driving????

> **> SCOTTY: ** no asshole I meant if he was saying anything

He was ready to reply, that no, he wasn’t saying anything, when the cab driver spoke, surprising Stiles.

“You should be careful,” the cab driver grumbled, not sounding much happier than he had before. He was sneaking glances at Stiles through the mirror, “this area is dangerous. Bad crowd.”

Stiles rubbed his nose, before shrugging, unconcerned. He didn’t know what had made the man suddenly talk, and as much as Stiles felt like shutting him down as effectively as he had done before, he actually was itching for a conversation.

“Thanks for the warning, I guess? I’m not worried though.”

The cab driver snorted, and Stiles huffed, already feeling less than charitable towards the man.

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“My job is dealing with that kind of danger.” Stiles said, making it come cheesier than he intended. He hesitated for a moment, thinking if he should disclose that he was a policeman or not. He decided to go for it. “I’m NYPD detective.”

That elicited a reaction out of the cab driver.“You’re young,” the cab driver observed suspiciously.

Well, that was because Stiles _was_ young. It was a surprise he was landing this job at 27. Granted, he was qualified, really well at that, but he also knew that there were more seasoned and competent cops out there for the position. Plus he knew he looked younger than he was with his buzz cut. He used to have long hair , had it like that for years after high school, but he suffered an accident few weeks after getting into LAPD that resulted in a head injury. He had to shave his head then, and, for some reason, he maintained the haircut for now.

"Guess I am young," Stiles said, smirked at the driver from the rear view. The man nodded, kept driving.

The drive took a bit longer, and while the driver didn’t say anything else, Stiles had eventual messages from Scott to entertain himself. He was still busy with the newborn puppies and a couple of other animals he was treating, but he was enough of a distraction with his random pictures.

He was so engrossed discussing the merits of Dogs vs. Cats with Scott, that Stiles didn’t realize they had arrived until he felt the car come to a stop. They were parked in front of an old, but well maintained building Stiles recognized from the pictures of the renting agency. That was his new home.

Stiles got out of the car, and unloaded his bags, and, at least, the driver helped him with that, even if it was merely by pulling the tailgate open.

"Here. Keep the change," Stiles said, handing the man the fare for the ride.

The driver took the money, making a face at the tip Stiles left for him.

“Cop or not, you stay alert,” The driver repeated, and he eyed Stiles for a moment, before adding, “You smell of wolf, but you are no wolf. Be careful.”

Stiles gaped at him, shocked for a moment, as the driver went back inside the car, driving away without saying anything else. He wondered how the driver _knew_. He was probably a werewolf himself, Stiles thought, if he was able to smell Stiles at all. Not to say creepy. And weird.

Stiles sighed, wondering if things in New York were always going to be this bizarre.

 

##

 

The first thing he strongly regretted about his building was the elevator. It was out of order, Stiles noticed with a sad groan. Dragging his bags up three stories was painful to say the least, and, even if Stiles was fit, it didn't mean he was fond of exercising. He wasn't. It was something he would do out of necessity, never because he liked to.

Huffing and puffing, Stiles arrived at his floor. To his ultimate relief, his apartment was exactly what he had seen on the ad at the agency. It was a small, but cozy one bedroom, with a living room with an adjacent kitchen, and a bathroom. It wasn't anything fancy, but the furniture was still good, the walls were recently painted, and it had an amazing view of the street.

Stiles checked the bedroom first, eager to see the place he would possibly spend most time in when he was home. It was a tiny thing, barely any space for the bed, dresser, and a bedside table. There were several empty shelves on the wall; the previous owner had probably been big on books. The blinds were dusty, but in good condition, and there was a planter by the windowsill, plant long dead. Stiles checked the dresser drawers, found nothing amiss, except the overwhelming smell of dust. He then checked the bed, a black metal bed, with a bare mattress.

Stiles looked dubiously at the mattress, making a mental note to buy a new one. He touched it with his foot, groaning loudly while thinking of all the gross things that could have happened on it.

"What if someone died on this…?" Stiles muttered to himself, pressing his foot harder into the bed, making the springs creak at the movement, "Crap, this one is so noisy, damn..."

The bed was old, obviously used, but there were no suspicious stains on the mattress. It still grossed Stiles out to think of sleeping on it, but he didn’t have the time to place an order online for a new mattress. Maybe he could put three sheets on the mattress? Would that be enough? He made a face. He could sleep on the floor. Sighing to himself, Stiles decided that he would decide as soon as he finished inspecting the apartment.

The living room was simple. Just an old couch that had seen better days, a coffee table, an empty television stand. Stiles had to leave his huge LED TV back at home with his dad; there was no way he would pay to take it with him all the way from California to New York; it was too expensive. He would need to buy another one, probably a cheaper model. His dad had offered to buy the television from Stiles, just a disguised way to give him money to buy a new one. He tried to refuse, but his dad was as stubborn as Stiles himself; Stiles probably got it from his father. There was nothing remarkable on the living room, except a bookshelf and an old cordless phone on the side table.

Moving to the adjoined kitchen, Stiles checked everything, satisfied the appliances – just a fridge and an stove – were functional. Stiles looked at the cabinets and gulped. What if there were rats?

"Oh please, oh please, no rats, no cockroaches, nothing, please," Stiles chanted, and he opened the first cabinet door. It was blessedly empty, except for spider webs. And, well, spiders. There were also very suspicious pellets that Stiles was _sure_ belonged to rats. He whimpered in terror. He _hated_ rats.

Still, there were no visible rats in the cabinets or under the sink. There were, though, cockroaches, but it was less tragic than he thought it would be. For that alone, he could throw a small party.

He checked the bathroom last, before sighing to himself, Stiles and going back to the living room. He sat on the floor – he was still wary of touching any part of his body on the couch. His new apartment wasn't perfect, but it was in good shape. He looked around, and tried to imagine himself living there for the next year, which was how long his initial lease was. Stiles thought of late nights back from work, and sitting on the couch to see some TV, trying to make the tension of the day bleed out of his body. In the future, maybe, Stiles hoped to see his father visiting at some point, even if they both had insane work schedules.

Closing his eyes, Stiles allowed himself to lean further into the cushions. There would be Christmases spent alone, birthdays he wouldn't be able to celebrate, moments he would lose from his father's life, because his life would be hectic and demanding. His job would demand a lot from him, Stiles knew how it was. His father had been on the force for longer than Stiles had been alive, so he knew exactly the sacrifices of that life. Still, he had chosen it. He would choose it every time. It didn’t make things any easier.

Stiles sighed, and stood up, stretching his back. He could mope about missing his family and friends back in California later. He had more important things to do at that moment, like unpacking.

Stiles pawed his pocket, and fished his phone out, thumbing his contacts for Scott and his dad. He sent both messages telling them he had finally arrived at his new place. His dad didn't answer back, which Stiles understood – he was probably sleeping now, given the time zones. Scott, though, called him back.

"Hey, Stiles," Scott greeted. His voice was rough with sleep, "Everything okay?"

"Everything cool, Scotty," Stiles stood up, and went to the bedroom, "Did I wake you up?"

"Nah, I'm marathoning Game of Thrones," Scott replied – or tried to. Part of it was garbled by a yawn, "So the new place is as expected? Did any exploring in New York?"

Stiles put the call on speaker, and started to unpack his bags. He needed to at least try to make a dent on getting those things in order, because he knew once he started to work, chances were that he wouldn't have the time or inclination to work on anything for awhile.

"Yeah, pretty much what I had seen on the ads, thank fuck. I’ll make a grand tour once I have my internet set up, but hey, place is not bad at all! Casa de Stilinski is neat, Scotty.”

“Yeah? So no weird surprises?”

“Nah, man. I’m not a man to get screwed in shit like this,” Stiles bragged, while shuffling his things around. He still needed to figure out if he was going to risk sleeping on the mattress.

"You run into trouble yet?”

Stiles snorted, amused by Scott’s words. He pulled out his bag of of underwear, and opened it on the top drawer. He gave it one more check over, but there was no disgusting insects or rats, so he put the underwear bag on it. He wasn’t about to put his beloved underwear directly in the drawer unprotected, who knew what hazards were hidden, waiting for him to sleep?

"Scott, what do you take me for? Don't answer that. Nah, no trouble. Actually… Something funny happened.”

“Oh god, you’ve been in New York for less than 24 hours, Stiles!” Scott groaned, sounding regretful.

“Bro, no! C’mon! What I mean is that… The cab driver said I smelled like wolf,” Stiles commented, while he sorted through his things, “I think the dude was a freaking werewolf.”

Scott made a surprised sound, and Stiles could almost hear his curiosity picking up. Both Scott and Stiles hadn’t had the chance of knowing many werewolves for years after Scott being bitten. They had dealt with it alone, until they met the alpha responsible for Scott’s turning, and putting him down. And then, a bit later, there was one alpha that offered Scott help to deal with his… Condition. It wasn’t until they both had moved for college, that they sort had the chance of meeting few others, but it was still something unusual.

“Wow, really? You should take more showers, if you’re smelling like me.”

“Oy, it’s not my fault your stink lingers, okay?” Stiles exclaimed outraged, as Scott laughed happily. God, Stiles _missed_ Scott already, how pathetic was that? “Anyway, I was just thinking of how life is going to be like now."

“What do you mean?”

"I don't know,” Stiles muttered, sighing softly, “I just realized I'll miss a lot of things from my dad's life. Yours too. I won’t be able to be around half as much now."

He wasn’t scared of being forgotten by his family and best friend, not really. But panic bubbled low in his chest when he thought about it. So many things could happen, and Stiles wouldn’t be there to solve things. It had been hard enough leaving Beacon Hills for college and then moving to Los Angeles for police academy and work. Yet, there was something jarring in the knowledge that he wasn’t within driving distance anymore. He needed a plane now, several hours of flight, and then a car to get to see his dad again. That alone was beyond terrifying.

Scott cut through Stiles’ increasingly worrying thoughts.

"Bro, no,” he said strongly, making Stiles get out of his own head, “C'mon, we can still talk everyday. We can text too. No way we're losing touch."

"Yeah, I guess. It's so pathetic I'm getting hung up on this, now of all times. I just can't seem to stop thinking about it."

Scott made a sympathetic noise on the phone, and Stiles wondered if _he_ was missing Stiles in any way. Ever since the job proposal had come, Scott had been nothing but supportive. But it made Stiles wonder. Stiles was the only person Scott had for so many things in his life.

"It'll be okay, Stiles,” Scott said in a serious tone, before adding in the very same solemn way, “I know you’re just missing my ass after all these years.”

Cackling, Stiles pulled his pants from the bags, checked them from any wrinkles, before folding them and putting on a hanger. He had to leave his work clothes separated. He had to make a good impression.

“It’s such a remarkable ass,” Stiles agrees, and they both laugh, “Damn, Scott… You know what I realized? That that’s the first time since we were thirteen that we’re apart for real. This is insane…”

“Yeah. Yeah it is. We’ve known each other for what? Sixteen years now? Since we were…?”

“Since we were six,” Stiles completed, and Scott hummed in agreement. They both fell silent, probably remembering that Summer back in 1994. Scott had just moved to the neighborhood in that year. Scott’s father was still around. Stiles’ mom was still alive.

“It’s about time to let go of my ol’ boring ass,” Scott joked, but his voice was soft, betraying the severity of their own feelings.

“Never. There’s no better ass anywhere in the U.S, Scotty, I assure you.”

“Thanks!” Scott sounded genuinely grateful, and Stiles didn’t even fight the wave of affection for Scott. They were like brothers. Scott had been the first person Stiles had ever talked about his experiences. There were so many things about his life he had only shared with Scott, and Scott alone.

It sounded stupid that at twenty-seven, Stiles would still have some degree of separation anxiety over his best friend. But when someone was the only other person he considered family, letting them go was terrifying. Especially knowing how Scott was constantly at risk.

“Ever since you accepted this job,” Scott commented, purposefully steering the conversation back at other things that not their own friendship. Stiles was grateful, “I was wondering when you were going to have some crisis over it. When you didn't, I worried."

"I'm not sure if this is a bad or good thing?"

"It's not bad. It's just that... You've always been so worried about us here – me, your dad, our mutual friends – I thought that leaving all of that would eventually get to you."

"Hah, thanks for making me sound like some overprotective granny, busying myself with other people's life."

"Aw, you would look dashing in a knitted shawl. Not what I meant, though. You were always pretty worried about making everything running as smoothly as possible. Now you have, for once, to let go and take care of your own life."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself. He understood what Scott was telling him. It was, in a sense, true. Stiles had been, responsible for his father's well being alone for a long time. Then there was Scott, and Stiles was, again, the only person around capable of helping. Bearing the brunt of insane responsibilities was something Stiles was used to. For once, Stiles was physically unable to take matters into his hands. A whole country of distance did that.

"This is going to drive me insane eventually, isn’t it?" Stiles commented, folding his shirts, and, after some debate, putting them in the drawers. He had considerably more stuff than he first thought. He was also mildly disgusted over the furniture.

“Nah, I think you’ll manage. You always do.”

“Thanks, Scott. Take care, okay? If you run into any problems, don’t hesitate to call me. I can put you in contact with some friends from the LAPD; they’ll help you out, no questions asked.”

“I know, man.”

“Also, check on my old man once in a while. I’m not in driving distance anymore…”

“Stiles, your father will do fine. Mr. Stilinski is being taken care of by half Beacon Hills _and_ my mom. Y’know that.”

“And if there’s any disturbance of _that_ kind, I’ll come over somehow, I promise you, you can–”

“Stiles!”

“Sorry! Sorry. Crap, this is going to suck so bad.”

“It won’t. It’s going to be fine.”

“Night, buddy.”

“Night.”


	2. Unusual Cases Division

Stiles woke up in his new apartment with a start. He looked up, at the unfamiliar ceiling, and frowned, confused for several seconds, before his brain kicked into gear, and supplied that he was, in fact, in his own bed.

Falling asleep had been harder than Stiles first anticipated – he was jet lagged, and sleeping during the flight proved to be a bad decision all around. Still, he eventually managed to fall into a light sleep, after semi-organizing his things, and taking a long shower. To his utmost happiness, the water pressure was actually pretty good, so he had that going for him. To his sadness, the hot water ended in about ten minutes, and that was one unpleasant experience.

Groaning, Stiles rolled on his bed and searched for his phone. He pulled it from under the pillow, flipped the cover open and stared at the time.

A quarter to eight.

“Oh fucking– SHIT!” Stiles launched himself out of the bed and into motion. So his phone alarm hadn’t gone off, and now he had no time to go through his morning routine.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! why is this my life? Why?” He was _late_. He was late for his very first day of work. He was so fucked.

In a whirlwind of uncoordinated limbs and panic, Stiles managed to dress himself, brush his teeth, and be out of the door in less than five minutes. There was no time for coffee – the travesty – but Stiles was sure he could find some coffee shop to quench his caffeine addiction. Or, if he was lucky, the station would have half-drinkable coffee. Chances were that it would be better than than the disgusting black sludge that the LAPD called coffee.

One of the reasons Stiles had chosen his apartment was that it was relatively close to the precinct where he was going to work. He hated commuting with passion, and, while he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the subway system and buses forever, he would like to have the option of doing so, if possible. So he chose a place as close as he could, just a ten minutes walk, no subway or bus needed.

Which would be great in any other scenario other than the one where he had less than ten minutes to be at work. He could manage though. He could turn a ten minute walk into a five minutes mad dash.

Stiles zoomed through the streets, yelling apologies at people that he was surely scaring, and strongly regretting everything about his life. He was sweating; he could feel it running down his back, and even if he was fit, running like that first thing in the morning was not what he had in mind as a way to start his day. It didn’t help that the streets were full, and he had to artfully dodge people on the sidewalk, so as to not collide to them. The very last thing he needed was to send someone to the floor and get into trouble. He saw a cop looking at him in alarm, and he just silently begged him not to stop him. He didn’t.

Breathing hard, Stiles gave one last sprint down 135th Street, huffing and puffing, and looked at his watch. He had exactly one minute to get his ass inside the precinct building. So Stiles smoothed his shirt (in vain), tried to regulate his breath (also in vain), and went in.

The inside of the precinct was like any other police station Stiles had been inside, a beacon of commotion, grumpy citizens and tired cops. Even first thing in the morning, there was enough activity, probably some of it residual from the night shift. By angry looks of some people waiting in line to be attended, that sure looked like the case.

Stiles cut the queue, earning some dirty looks from the citizens in line, and he smiled at the officer behind the front desk. He gave Stiles a tired, exhausted look, and gestured to the queue.

“You have to wait for your turn, sir.”

“Damn right he do!” A woman in the queue complained loudly. Stiles threw her an apologetic smile.

“Busy day, huh,” Stiles said, and the policeman didn’t really bother answering him. Stiles was used to the callousness of tired, overworked policemen, “Sorry, I’m not here to make a complaint. I’m Detective Stilinski, Chief Morrell is waiting for me.”

“Can I see your identification, sir?”

“Sure,” Stiles said easily, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, and handing the policeman what he needed.

The officer – Chavez, Stiles read on his badge – held one finger for Stiles to wait, and checked something in his computer and nodded. He eyed Stiles weirdly, like he was assessing him somehow, which wasn’t completely surprising. Stiles was young, and even more young looking. His face flushed, and clothes slightly rumpled by his running, he probably looked about eighteen.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,just go through that door in the back. Unusual Cases occupies the entire sub level 2. You can’t miss it,” Officer Chavez rubbed his nose, sniffed a bit, “I would go down the stairs if I were you. Elevator here takes forever.”

Stiles nodded at the man, and made his way through the back. The belly of the police station was a flurry of activity, just as much as the front. Stiles could see that that precinct had considerably more activity than his station back in Los Angeles. Barely containing his anxiousness, he found the stairs and went down, jumping steps. He expected to work more, he did. He couldn’t stand a boring job and days stuck with little to do. Still, it just added to his general stress over his new job. He honestly hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

The Unusual Cases Division was localized in the second sub basement, and it was bigger than Stiles thought. There were two glass doors with the NYPD logo emblazoned on them, and the UCD name written underneath. Stiles took a moment check himself, realising there was nothing to do about how he looked, took a deep breath, and pushed the doors open stepping inside.

Unusual Cases Division was much like any other station Stiles have ever seen, and yet, there was something distinctively different, though he couldn’t point out what. Everything was annoyingly normal: whiteboards filled with information, metal cabinets that were probably there since the 80’s, and an inordinate amount of files about everywhere. There were nine desks, but only two were occupied this early. A burly black man sat at one of the desks, the one on the right, closer to the door, typing away on his computer. He didn’t look up when Stiles entered, and Stiles didn’t really feel like bothering the man.

At the farthest desk on the left there were three people, a dark-haired man with a scruff, a tanned skin guy, with almond eyes and an easy smile, a and a dark-haired woman in a blue blouse and gray pencil skirt, sitting on the desk. They seemed deep in discussion, and the scruffy-guy seemed to strongly disagree with something, while the woman looked mostly frustrated. They didn’t acknowledged Stiles’ entrance at all.

“Well,” Stiles said to the room at large, “This wasn’t awkward in the slightest.”

For that, Stiles won a glare from the black guy. Still, that was enough for the dark-haired woman in the back to spot him. She said something to the smiling guy, who nodded, while the scruffy guy just rolled his eyes, before hoping off the table. She had the kind of smile that made you think she was soft, Stiles thought, and not law enforcement, but her dimples were deceiving. Her stride was sure; her eyes had steel in them, and Stiles knew better than to mess with a girl like that.

He thought he would like her.

“Hello, how may I help you?” She said, pleasant and easy, and Stiles caught himself smiling back at her.

“Hey, I’m, ah, the new guy? Stilinski. I’m here to see Chief Morrell?”

“Ah, yes, she told us you would be arriving today. I’m Allison Argent; you can call me Allison. Nice to meet you.”

Stiles smiled at her and out stretched his hand, and Allison took it in hers. Her grip was strong and sure, her smile unwavering, and Stiles instantly took a liking to her.

“Nice to meet you too,”

Allison gestured to a door behind her, all glass and wooden panels, with nondescript white blinds. The entire department seemed deeply plunged into some 90’s cop show, and it was both comforting and hilarious. Stiles grew up in rooms like this one, and it felt familiar.

“I can give you the grand tour later if you want, but first I think Morell is waiting for you, and she _hates_ to be kept waiting,” Allison said in a fake conspiratory tone, making Stiles laugh. She seemed pleased with herself.

Without preamble, Stiles went to the office, ignoring the curious looks the rest of his presumed co-workers were giving him. He would have time for introductions after he talked to Morrell and got his badge from her. Taking a discreet deep breath, he knocked on Chief Morrell’s door.

“Detective Stilinski,” she said when Stiles stepped inside, closing the door behind him, “I take it your trip went well?”

Deputy Chief Marin Morrell sat behind a huge wooden desk, shuffling through some papers with detached interest. She looked different from what Stiles imagined from the phone calls. She looked young, way younger than he imagined, though there was an air of seniority about her that was unmistakable, one reinforced by the hushed quality of her voice. She held herself poised on her chair, sitting ramrod straight, though her face wasn’t necessarily strict. She looked at Stiles like she could see all his secrets, all while telling him she held infinite secrets her own. Her hair was pinned up in a tight bun.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk, and Stiles took it gingerly.

 

“Yeah, it was alright. Planes are not my favorite things in the world, but hah, it didn’t crash so there’s that,” Stiles said, trying to sound polite and definitely not doing all that much of a good job at it. He was nervous, and he wanted to ramble. He cleared his throat, feeling like a fool, “And… Yeah, thanks for asking, Ma’am.”

Morrell nodded and opened a drawer at her desk, pulling out a brown envelope.

“This is your badge, and some of the pending paperwork. What you sent us last week already came through, so this is just some small details we had left.”

Stiles nodded, and opened the enveloped, pulling out his new badge. He stared at it for a moment, feeling a lick of pride in his chest, before pocketing it. There were some other papers, mostly things regarding his benefits, and also a small booklet with a black, nondescript cover.

“There’s some other things there, like your details to access the station’s network, our department’s intranet, the NYPD training manual, and the online Compendium.” Stiles pulled out a small notebook and flipped it open. It had several things noted on it, mostly usernames and passwords for different systems that he would use at work. “If you have any doubts regarding the tech part, you can always ask Detective Mahealani.”

Stiles didn’t know who Mahealani was yet, but he didn’t feel like pointing that out. He would find out soon enough.

“Also here.”

Morrell handed him a pistol, and Stiles took it by the handle, feeling the weight of it.

“You can opt for a SIG if you so desire, but from what I read on your reports, you are used to this one better?”

Stiles nodded, looking at the Glock 19 in his hand. His father had a very similar model at home, and Stiles had often trained with one (with his supervision, of course). It was also his gun back at LAPD, so he was fairly comfortable with it. He did like the SIG alright, but he thought he would be fine with that Glock.

“I believe other information is compiled on the material I just gave you, so I suggest reading it before anything. You have a locker in the changing room; I gave Hale your locker number and key. Detective Hale is your new partner, by the way.”

Stiles looked up at that. He hadn’t heard anything about his future partner, though he knew he would be assigned one. Back in Los Angeles, when he was still a police officer, he had Mason as a partner. They had had an amicable enough relationship, until it evolved into something a bit more. Not the most professional thing Stiles had ever done, but it didn’t affect their work in the slightest. Then Stiles got promoted anyway. And now he was in the NYPD.

“Are there any question?”

“So many,” Stiles smirked, and Morrell just gave him a sedated smile in return, “But nothing pressing, no. Is Hale in?”

“I believe you passed by him to get to my office,” Morrell said in an amused tone. She pinned him with an intense look, “One last thing, Stilinski.”

Stiles straightened his back. He knew that tone, it meant business. Or trouble. Possibly both.

“I still need you to sign this,” Morrell pushed a stack of sheets to Stiles, and he scanned the pages. It was a nondisclosure agreement, to anything related to the nature of his job.

Stiles speed read the document, feeling weirded out by it. An entire agreement on disclosure wasn’t something that Stiles was expecting. As a rule, he couldn’t disclose details on cases he worked on, but this was something else entirely. It forbid Stiles from mentioning anything beyond the standard description of his job. Stiles stole a glance at Morrell, suddenly realizing that maybe he was in a bit deeper than he first thought.

“I thought I had signed one similar to this one already…?” Stiles started, once he finished reading. He didn’t sign it.

“This one is specific for our department,” Morrell explained, leaning on her desk, and propping her head on her hands, “We couldn’t cover in those emails the true nature of our work here in Unusual Cases Division. You might have asked yourself why you received this job proposal so long after your original application to join the NYPD, and the reason for that was that we needed to judge if you were… _Ideal_ for our line of work.”

She stood up, circled her table and stopped by a bookshelf. It didn’t look to have anything special, just old books whose titles Stiles couldn’t really really.

“UCD is one of the oldest divisions of the NYPD. And there’s a similar division on all police department across the US. Sometimes we operate under different names, but we’re there.”

Morrell turned, throwing Stiles a small smile over her shoulder.

“LAPD included. Anyway, you’ll soon find out that the nature of our cases is… _Sensitive_.”

“How so?” Stiles asked, licking his lips nervously. This was looking slightly too sinister for his liking, though he was about 90% sure he _knew_ what Morrell was hinting. He still didn’t want to dive in without knowing 100%.

“I can’t disclose that information until you have signed the papers. If you’re worried about what exactly your job entails, I can assure you that, much like your previous position, it involves investigating crimes. There isn’t much of a difference on that front. I guess the biggest change will lie in who you will deal with. Or the exact content of those crimes.”

“And you can’t tell me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Stiles rubbed his lower lip with his fingers, thinking. Though he suspected what she was implying about the job, it was still subtext. It tickled Stiles curiosity like nothing else. He wanted to _know_ what his job really entailed, but he also didn’t want to compromise himself. He thought he had it down, but maybe he was wrong.

Before coming to New York, he did his homework. He knew that Unusual Cases handled several different types of cases, whose the perpetrators and victims fit a certain _criteria_. There was never a direct mention of what that criteria was, but Stiles had poked around enough to have an inkling with what it dealt. Still, he didn’t receive any confirmation; it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could go around asking about.

Officially, Unusual Cases investigated crimes that had unusual patterns or perpetrators. Any crime that defied logic, went to them. It sounded exciting to Stiles, to be able to get all those crazy cases that no one could deal with because they made little to no sense. LAPD did have a similar department themselves, as Morrell pointed out, but he never heard of Unusual Cases Division being anything out of the ordinary. In fact, Stiles rarely ever heard about them, except when cases were plucked from his unit to be given to them.

He tried to think back to his job at LAPD and trace a pattern of which cases ended up handed to them, but nothing stood out. He could barely remember the cases, and Stiles had a surprisingly good memory. It was exactly how everything was _suspicious_ that told Stiles what they probably dealt with. Their secrecy was a dead giveaway, if you knew what you were looking for, and Stiles did. Or at least he thought so.

“If that’s a deal breaker for me?” Stiles asked at last.

“I’ll sign your transfer papers to another department myself,” Morrell said, but she gave Stiles a razor sharp smile, and he suppressed a shudder, “You can’t tell me you don't have an idea of what your job entails, Stiles. I’m sure you do. I’m sure that’s the reason _why_ you came.”

Laughing, Stiles shook his head, because Morrell was right. Stiles wouldn’t have moved across the country if he didn’t know he was going to stay anyway. He wasn’t stupid. He researched as much as he could, but he knew two things, when things were coded and hidden to keep them secret, and those secrets made him unable to dig deeper, something supernatural in nature had to be involved.

“Welp, busted.”

Stiles signed the papers. It was probably a mistake; he could feel it in his bones, but he couldn’t help but want it. He not only needed to prove himself right, but he knew that he was probably one of the few people on the force that was apt for this kind of work. It was trouble, but the kind of trouble that Stiles liked, the kind that made his heart race in anticipation.

“I hope I don’t regret this,” He commented, pushing the papers back to Morrell.

“I believe you won’t.”

“Are you going to tell me now?”

Morrell gave Stiles a genuine smile at that.

“As I know you’re aware, supernatural creatures exist. Have you ever thought how they were kept a secret?”

Stiles blinked, because it felt surreal to hear the words “ _supernatural creatures_ ” coming out from the mouth of someone like Morrell, who looked so put together. He nodded anyway.

“We handle supernatural cases where both the perpetrators and/or the victims are supernatural creatures. Anything of that nature comes to us, which makes us… Busy, as you can probably deduce.”

“Oh man, I knew it,” Stiles slumped abruptly on his chair, giving a honest to God giggle, “I _was_ right.”

It made him borderline giddy. All the things that they should know, the things they dealt with? It was both beyond terrifying, and incredibly exciting. He had been mostly sure after all the research and reading between the lines of very cryptic reports – the ones that were made available in the first place. It was incredible that he had guessed right. Granted, he had the advantage of a previous inside knowledge of the existence of supernatural creatures in the first place, but still. It was wondrous that such unit even existed.

“I’ve been digging around this for so long. I’ve always wondered what was done to the reports that couldn’t be just ruled out as something else, animal attack, or whatever,” Stiles babbled, rubbing his palms together, “I knew there should be something, I knew it.”

“We were aware of your ‘digging’,” Morrell said, looking amused at Stiles’ reaction, “When you put your application a year ago, we did our own brand of digging around you. You were chosen for a reason, Stilinski.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous in the slightest,” Stiles deadpanned, and Morrell just raised one eyebrow in response, “Will you tell me why?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out. Anyway, your teammates will be able to answer any further questioning you might have about how we work,” Morrell plunged on, cutting his train of thought. She had one book in her hand, and Stiles couldn’t make out the words on it, but Stiles knew a dismissal when he heard one.

Standing up, Stiles took his things and safely holstered his gun. Morrell stepped forward, extending a hand to Stiles, and he took it. Her grip was firm, and Stiles had the distinct feeling she could and would kick his ass if needed.

“Welcome to the UCD, Zdziaław Stilinski.”

 

##

“Guys, a moment, please,” Chief said, and they assembled closer to her, Stiles still idling a step behind her. “This is Detective Stilinski; he recently transferred to our department from the LAPD I expect your cooperation while he gets accustomed to our department. Hale?”

The scruffy guy frowned, giving half a step forward. He looked way bigger now that Stiles was looking, with obvious muscles under the white shirt he wore. They were however, about the same height; maybe Stiles was even taller. Hopefully. Hale was attractive, even for someone who wasn't into the entire rough exterior thing. Which Stiles pretty much was.

“Yes?”

"I'm leaving him in your hands. He already has his gun and badge, but he still needs to see his workstation and know his surroundings. Also the initiation."

Hale just nodded, and his closed-off expression suggested that he was all but thrilled to give the rookie the grand tour.

What he had in attractiveness, he made up for in jerkiness.

"Also Hale? Remember what we previously discussed."

This time his nod was much stiffer, and Stiles wondered what Chief Morrell had talked about that had made his new partner so clearly uncomfortable. He saw Allison giving Derek a sympathetic smile, one that wasn’t returned.

"Well, that's all. Back to work; those cases aren't solving themselves."

Chief Morrell left, softly clicking her door closed, and Stiles shuffled awkwardly. There was a minute of silence, before Allison cleaned her throat with finality, and Hale rolled his eyes.

"Derek Hale," Hale said as a way of introduction, "You've met Allison. This is Daniel Mahealani."

He gestured at the guy with the dimpled smile that Stiles saw talking with Allison and Hale when he arrived. The guy stepped forward and shook Stiles’ hand, looking not even remotely awkward.

"Hey, everybody calls me Danny. Welcome the team, Stilinski; we’ve heard stuff about you."

"I go by Stiles; easier on everybody’s tongue,” Stiles answered, smiling at Danny. The guy was attractive, not only physically, but he had the kind of face and smile that put people at ease. Welp, just his luck that his new place was filled of attractive people, “Whatever you heard about me are lies. Unless they are good things."

“Interesting things, I would say,” Danny said, with a wink, and damn. Guy had a killer smile going for him.

Hale huffed loudly, and Danny rolled his eyes, still smiling, before stepping back. Hale just went on talking, looking as annoyed as a teacher interrupted during class.

"And that's Vernon Boyd," He pointed at the black guy.

“Call me Boyd” He said in a deep voice, nodding at Stiles, before turning away and going to his desk. Stiles blinked, unsure if that was a veiled fuck off or if the guy was just as talkative as a rock.

"That's it for our team. We have one of ours, Lahey, down in the Medical Examiner's Office; he's responsible for sending us reports of unusual deaths. Then there's Kira, who runs our tech lab, but if it’s urgent, you can ask Danny about anything on that. Any questions?"

Stiles blinked at Hale. He had to hold his tongue as to not say ' _Yes, are you always this charming, or am I getting special treatment?_ ’ He didn’t say anything though; God knows he had gotten into enough trouble in his life for not knowing when to shut up; he learned his lesson. Kinda.

“I think I’m good,” Stiles said, elongating the vowel on ‘think’ a bit. Hale frowned, and Stiles knew he was sounding obnoxious, but his new partner wasn’t helping, “Chief mentioned something about locker though.”

Derek kept frowning, even when Allison rubbed her and on his shoulder, before turning to her desk. They seemed to be close.

“I can show you around,” Derek said, and he didn’t look particularly happy about it.

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “You don’t have to.”

“I do. Chief said so,” Derek grumbled, striding past Stiles towards the exit,” C’mon. I still have to set up your computer.”

Sighing, Stiles followed.

 

##

 

The following day, Stiles arrived ten minutes early, which would be enough to warrant a celebration, except for the fact that almost all of his co-workers were already there, Hale included.

Mood dampened, Stiles made his way to his new desk, nodding and muttering ‘morning’ as he passed. Boyd didn’t acknowledge his presence, while Allison threw him a smile so bright he caught himself smiling back. His desk was right in front of Hale’s – which was to be expected, since they were partners, and was bare of anything, except the computer, a file organizer, and a phone. Stiles put his backpack on the floor, shrugged his jacket off, and collapsed on his chair. He slept terribly, with heavy jet lag and finding out in the worst way possible that the old mattress in his apartment had bed bugs. Somehow, they found a way of biting him, even through two layers of sheets. Sleep didn’t happen to him, and the day before had been hell already, with him feeling incredibly sleepy at three in the afternoon. Hale had been understanding about it then; or at least he hadn’t bitched about it.

“Mornin’, Hale,” Stiles muttered, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Hale looked up from the brown file he was reading and nodded at Stiles, without even cracking a small smile, before frowning. Stiles knew he was probably noticing the ugly marks in his face and neck, but Hale didn’t mention it. He just looked down and continued with whatever he was reading.Stiles sat down, feeling wary, but relieved. Hale had been civil while showing Stiles around, but there was this stiffness about him that Stiles wasn’t sure he would be able to work around. It wasn’t as if Stiles wasn’t used to dealing with people that disliked him, but it sure made work harder.

Sighing, he started pulling things from his backpack. He needed his supplies if he wanted to do a good job, so after getting off work, he had hit a office supply store and bought what he considered basic supplies. They consisted of several different lighters, in different colors, enough colored pens to make a high school girl jealous, a Moleskine pack, colored tacks, and loads of colorful Post-Its. He pulled everything from his bag, setting it around his desk in the way he liked: pencils and markers in the pencil holder (or he knew he’d lose them and never find them again), Post-Its stacked in a corner, Moleskines on the other corner. He pushed the file organizer to another corner of the table, tilted the computer screen to a better working angle, and adjusted the keyboard so he could type more comfortably and reach his Moleskines for notes more easily. It looked weirdly like the desk of a child obsessed with rainbows, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t remain that organized for long, anyway. Soon there would be files, stacks of them, and papers, and he needed things in a way he could understand them.

He looked up from his task to see Hale looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

“… What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Organizing my desk?”

Hale looked the surface of his desk. Stiles objectively understood that it must look like there was an explosion on it, everything arranged differently than it first was. Hale didn’t say anything, just stared at Stiles in a way told him exactly what he thought of Stiles’ organization.

“You do know, the station provides office supplies, right?” Derek had a hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth, and was clearly amused. Stiles threw him a mock-glare.

“Look, it makes sense to me, okay?”

“As long as you don’t lose any files in this mess, I don’t care.”

Stiles made an outraged noise, that Hale didn’t seem to hear – or more likely, he just completely ignored it.

“I’m not going to lose anything,” Stiles called out, unwilling to let Hale have the last word. He glanced around, and Boyd seemed to be doing his own thing, while Allison had this pinched looked on her face, like she was hurt by their exchange. Stiles almost felt ashamed, except she was looking at Hale and not at Stiles.

“Uh huh. Sure you won’t,” Hale said, without looking up from his reading.

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but Allison came almost jogging over to him, smile frozen on her face.

“Stiles! Hi! Are you busy now? I feel like getting some coffee. Do you want some?”

Stiles blinked, because Allison was all but steamrolling him. He saw Hale frowning at Allison, but she threw him such a look Stiles felt chastised himself, even if it wasn’t directed to him.

“I–”

“Did Derek show you the break room? Anyway, I’m going to show it to you again; the coffee maker has a little trick to make it work. Come with me?”

Stiles nodded, and stood up, trailing after Allison to the adjoined room Hale showed him the day before. She closed the door after him and turned on the television, setting it on low. The room was pretty comfortable, with a couch, foldable table with four mismatched chairs, a coffee maker, a fridge and a microwave. It was a sufficient break room for long hours and the graveyard shift.

Allison started the coffee maker. It was one of those models that ground the coffee seeds, and the noise was loud.

“So what’s the trick?” Stiles leaned on the counter.

“There’s no trick,” Allison said in a low tone. She shrugged, pulling two travel mugs from the cabinet above the sink, “I just wanted to avoid the obvious fight.”

Stiles pursed his lips, and Allison sighed, while rinsing the travel mugs, and setting the lids aside.

“Look, it isn’t you. Really, uhm… I know it must be hard, – moving out, new job, all that – so it must suck to have Derek this… Closed-off. But it isn’t you. I know I have no right to ask, but cut him some slack, if you can.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. Allison looked earnest and hopeful, and he felt a bit like a jerk for even thinking of shooting her down. Still, he didn’t want to deal with Hale being salty around him. The tour the day before had been trying to say the least. Hale didn’t like to talk, answered Stiles’ few questions with monosyllables, and all but threw a party when the shift was over and he could drop Stiles. Seriously, it was as though the man equated showing him around the department to babysitting.

“What got him all… Grumpy and shit then?”

Allison shrugged, and turned her face, avoiding Stiles’ eyes. She looked deeply uncomfortable all of sudden, and Stiles wondered about

“It’s not really my story to tell? I mean…” She sighed, fiddling with the cup mugs on the counter, “Just… Derek had another partner not long ago. He needs time to adapt.”

Stiles frowned, because he never asked himself why there was a sudden opening in the department. He had applied for it months ago, but only now he had been called. By Morrell’s talk, he had thought they were waiting for him to have a bit more time on the force as a detective, but maybe it had been a matter of a vacant spot.

“What happened to his previous partner?”

Allison bit her lips, before rolling her shoulder, like she was trying to shake her visible discomfort away.

“It’s _really_ not my story to tell. It isn’t anything suspicious, I just think Derek wouldn’t appreciate me talking about things behind his back. You should ask Derek about it at some point. I just… Look, you just arrived, but I can see you’re defensive towards Derek, which I get. I do, I swear. I just wanted you to know he doesn’t have anything against you personally. And he’s actually a very good guy. He’s just…”

“Going through a rough patch. Yeah, I guess I can work with that.”

Relieved, Allison patted his arm, muttering a thank you under her breath. She turned to the coffee maker, and poured it on both mugs, before pushing both of them to Stiles.

“Derek likes coffee too. Do you mind…?”

Stiles just shook his head, picked them up and left the break room. He couldn’t help but be curious about whatever happened to the previous partner. Maybe they had died in action, or maybe they just left? Stiles could dig around and find out, but he doubted that he could do it in a way Hale wouldn’t notice. Maybe he could find the personnel files for the department’s previous detectives. He could just do some light investigative work.

He set the mug in front of Hale without a word, already sipping his own. He didn’t wait to see if he was going to be thanked, he didn’t expect to be. He was wrong for once.

“Oh. Thank you,” Derek said in a rough voice, looking embarrassed. It was a weird look on a guy like that.

“No biggie.”

Hale seemed to disagree, by the way his eyebrows dipped into a frown. Stiles decided to ignore it, setting his mug down, and typing his login and password into his work station. He was still paying attention to Derek however enough to see him stand up and come closer. He didn’t say anything for few seconds, and Stiles purposefully ignored him.

“Hm, I need to take you for the initiation,” Hale said at last, sounding more rough than usual. Almost unsure even.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Stiles poked around the files available on his computer. Maybe there was something online about personnel.

“It’s… A ritual. Of sorts.”

That picked Stiles’s attention up, and he looked up at Derek.

“Ritual? Like magical ritual.”

“Sorta. C’mon. We should do it while we’re still free.”

Stiles raised his mug.

“Can it wait for coffee?”

“Grab the lids on the break room; we can drink on the way.”

Siles held in a comment about not being Hale’s dog, ready to fetch for him, and nodded instead, picking up his jacket from the back of his chair. Allison was at the door of the break room, sipping on her coffee, and holding out both travel mugs’ lids.

“Looking for these?” She said, with a playful wink, and Stiles laughed before grabbing them with a thanks.

Hale passed by them, and Allison held out her hand for Hale to hold. He did, and they traded a wordless conversation with their eyes, before Hale just marched on, going through the exit doors. Stiles just made a face at Allison.

“Remember. _Slack_ ,” She muttered, and Stiles nodded, before going after Hale.


	3. Not a She

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that there'll be accidental misgendering in this chapter. There'll be acknowledgement of the mistake made and apologies will be made. Still, please, mind it.

Stiles stood in front of an old, shabby building, with Hale by his side. He stole a look at his partner.

“So it’s here…?” Stiles asked, skeptical. When he said ritual, he had thought of something majestic, with hooded figures, several candles and maybe a pentagram on the floor. He hadn’t thought of a rundown building one block away from the precinct. There were kids sitting on the stairs, fiddling on their phones. It looked everything but, well, magical.

Hale nodded, before stepping on the stairs. The kids gave them enough space to climb them, but no more.

“They live on the seventh floor,” Hale said, buzzing the old intercom. Stiles looked at the names written, but they blurred before he could understand what was written.

He blinked then rubbed his eyes. The words started to form once more, before they blurred again.

“Stop doing that: you’re going to give yourself a headache,” Hale said, snapping his fingers in front of Stiles’ face. Stiles shook his head and blinked the blurriness out of his eyes.

“What…?”

“Magic. To keep humans at bay. Keep insisting, and it’ll get worse.”

The door buzzed open, and Hale entered the building without waiting for Stiles. Stiles walked after him, still looking warily at the intercom list.

The inside of the building wasn’t in any better state than the outside. The paint had long since faded and chipped, and words had been graffitied on them. Stiles looked around, not feeling the general looks of the building; it looked like a territory dispute than anything else.

“I don’t know about you, but this place doesn’t look very… Magical to me.”

Hale looked back at Stiles from the steps of the stairs, one eyebrow raised in question. He looked imposing from there, half-turned like that, and Stiles was instantly annoyed by how the guy could look like _that_ in a rundown building, under a harsh white light. Honestly, it was unfair.

“And what would something ‘magical’ look like?”

“Less like I’m about to walk into gang territory?” Stiles sassed, gesturing around to the graffiti at the walls. Hale didn’t look around, merely stared at Stiles, “C’mon you said _magic_. And this dump is probably the least magical place I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not sure what are your ideas about this, but I can assure you that not everybody has the money to afford theatricalities,” Hale said stiffly, turning to climb the stairs and leaving Stiles behind with no other word, “Also this graffiti?”

“Yeah?”

“ _Is_ magical, so stop this.”

Stiles didn’t even need to know Hale to feel that he had struck a nerve of sorts. He glared at Hale’s retreating back, climbing after him. Who could even blame Stiles for being disappointed? He had never seen real magic – not really. He had, back in high school, found out that there were some small things he could do to deal with some creatures. But those weren’t things Stiles would classify as _magic_. He could do them himself, and he wasn’t magical at all. So excuse him for having higher expectations about magic. He wanted great halls and wands, not having to go up eight flights of stairs only to stop in front of a door that had deep scratch marks.

“Elevator. Would that be asking for much? A damn elevator,” Stiles moaned as he got to the last floor, huffing. Hale was waiting for him, looking completely unwinded by the stairs. Stiles had good physical conditioning, but that was _ridiculous_.

“So… Here?” Stiles said, stepping beside Hale, “Nice. I’m feeling the door decorations.”

Hale turned to Stiles, a glare already in place. He couldn’t tower over Stiles, not when they were both pretty much the same size, but Stiles couldn’t compete with the unfair bulk of Hale’s mass. He still made an imposing figure this close, with such an angry face, and it automatically irked Stiles.

“Do us both a favor a favor and don’t offend the witch,” Hale all but growled, “I would rather come back to the precinct without being hexed.”

Stiles crossed his arms, unimpressed by Hale’s intimidation.

“One, back off my face. Two, what the hell, dude?” Hale scowled harder, and Stiles felt angrier. “That was rude, what even?!”

Hale scoffed, and crossed his arms, mirroring Stiles instance. If it was intentional or not, Stiles didn’t know.

“I am rude? Ever since you entered the building, you’ve been making derisive comments about this place,” Hale said, glaring.

“Oh my God, that’s what getting you all pissed off about?” Stiles complained, gesturing wildly, “C’mon, it isn’t like this is Hogwarts, okay? This _is_ a dump. But if it offends you so much, I’ll refrain from saying so in your face.”

Stiles knew he had told Allison he would cut Hale some slack, but the guy was _annoying_. Hale looked positively furious at Stiles.

“It offends me because this is somebody’s _home_. Several people — good people — live in this building, Stilinski. Respect them.”

With that, Hale turned and knocked on the door, effectively cutting off any reply Stiles could have said. Not that he had a reply. It pained him to admit, but Hale did have a point.

The door opened immediately, and a small, pink-haired girl was standing in the doorway. She had very short hair, with multicolored bangs, and her sides shaved. She looked much like any other punk kid Stiles had ever seen: colorful hair, shredded jeans, some underground band tank top, and enough piercings on her face to make a metal detector go crazy.

“Derek,” The girl said, and her voice had this cadence that sounded almost like singing, “I was wondering when you two would stop arguing and come in.”

Hale ducked his head and gave the girl a small smile, before getting an armful of her. He looked startled for a moment, like he didn't know what to do with her, before hugging her back.

“Cait, it's good to see you,” Hale said softly, as the girl bounced back to her previous position.

“It's been too long,” The girl — Cait — said before turning to look at Stiles, “And you're the new guy.”

Stiles waved, and she took one good, long look at him. Her stare was unnerving, and Stiles thought, for a moment, her eyes had changed colors, shining bright white. He was about to comment on it, when she shook her head, and nodded, like she was agreeing to something that was never said.

“Interesting partner you have there, Derek,” The girl – Cait said, before gesturing for them, “Come, come inside. I have a client at 3pm, so I need to have time to clean the energy before they arrive.”

Stiles almost rolled his eyes at the 'energy' comment, keeping his snark contained, but barely. Hale seemed to sense that Stiles wasn't really feeling the tiny girl as a witch, because he glared at Stiles for good measure, before going after her. The insides of her apartment were much like Wiccan had crossed with some New Wave chic. 

It was surprisingly spacious, like it was actually two apartments where most walls had been brought down. The walls were white, but the painting hanging on them were bright colored and chaotic. There were tiny lights all around the apartment, with flowers woven on the lights, and it seemed like no matter where Stiles looked, there were tiny dots of light staring back. The furniture was all mismatched and equally colorful: a purple couch, paired up with three bright armchairs, one red, one yellow and one green. Her shelves were crowded with all kind of objects; it gave Stiles a headache, and the there were piles of books on pretty much every available surface, including the couch and the floor. Only one section of the floor was free, a perfect square, about 10 feet large, with a huge sigil drawn in white paint. Stiles tried to understand what the symbol was, but his eyes blurred so suddenly he swayed on his feet.

“Oh don't do that,” Cait admonished, clicking her tongue in reproach, “it'll give you a migraine.”

“What's wrong with the intercom and that thing?” Stiles complained, pointing at the symbol, He rubbed his eyes, but his vision was still swimming a little.

Cait pushed Stiles' hand aside, then passed her hand across his face. His vision cleared, and Stiles blinked in surprise.

“There's nothing wrong with them; they are doing their purpose,” She said, before walking away to a coffee table littered with things. “They aren't meant to be read by humans. That's why you are here, so you can do your job despite your humanity.”

Stiles frowned, confused as in how Cait talked about humans like she wasn't one. Stiles knew that not all creatures that go bump in the night looked monstrous; Scott appeared fairly human before he sprouted hair all over his face. He wanted to ask, but Cait walked back to him with an armful of trinkets.

“Derek, could you help me? I need these amulets on the cardinal points, okay? Can you set them for me while I grab my knife?”

That got Stiles' full attention.

“Knife? What do you need a knife for?”

Cait dismissed the question with a wave of her hand, before disappearing through one door at the back of the room — the only other beside the entry door and another one, Stiles supposed was a bathroom.

“Oy, I’m not kidding, what the hell do you need a knife for?” Stiles yelled, walking after Cait. Hale stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“What are you doing?”

“What am _I_ doing?” Stiles asked, staring at Hale. The guy looked infuriatingly annoyed, like _Stiles_ was being difficult, “Listen, man, I’m not here to let some Wiccan hippie anywhere near me with a knife. I don’t know if that’s your idea of prank or haze, or whatever–”

“Do you really think Morrell would authorize hazing you? And don’t call Cait that.”

Scoffing, Stiles tried to push past Hale, only to be stopped again as the guy stepped right with him. Stiles glared at him.“Yeah, because I can feel a lot of serious magical vibe coming from the whole insane new wave decor here.”

Hale huffed through his nose, nostrils flaring. He rolled his neck, before just extending both hands to Stiles, in a placating gesture.

“This isn’t a prank. What Cait’s doing is real; I assure you it is. Now please, just stay still so I can set the circle.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles stepped back to the middle of the room and watched as Hale finished putting the trinkets down. Stiles noticed they were all made of metal, different kinds, and each had a different shape. A half moon, a sun, what looked like a tree, and some others he wasn't exactly sure what they were. They all seemed, however, connected to nature. It felt too much like some silly kid playing witch and nothing like real magic.

“I'm really inclined to believe this is actually a very elaborated prank,” Stiles commented, trying to walk away from the circle, only to be stopped by Hale.

“For God’s sake. Don't. Stay inside.”

“Oh c'mon, are you trying to convince me this, _this_ is real?” Stiles gestured around, raising an eyebrow at Hale, “Look, that was very funny, prank the new guy but I'm— OW!”

Stiles hit his face on something, and bounced back. He blinked, eyes watering, before tentatively touching the air in front of him.

It resisted, shimmering slightly.

“What...?”

“I told you to stay inside,” Hale said smugly, smirking a bit, “this is a barrier. You can't get out until it's broken.”

“I'm... Oh my God...” Stiles pressed the invisible wall again, “Holy— What the hell?”

Cait appeared back, bouncing slightly as she walked to them.

“It wouldn't have worked so well if it weren't a spark.”

“He's a spark?” Hale asked, looking surprised.

“I'm a what now?” Stiles asked, still testing the barrier with his fingers. It felt like touching glass, smooth and resistant.

“Spark. Some humans have... They have a supernatural affinity? A bit of magic themselves, so to speak.” Cait knelt down and started to draw lines between the amulets with white chalk. “I mean, sparks are still 100% human, unlike witches, but they have this… _Thing_. You're a spark. Or have a spark. There's debate inside the supernatural community if spark is something you have or are. I'm partial to are. I think there must be distant witch ancestry for a spark to be born.”

“ _He_ is a spark?” Hale asked again, and Stiles felt a bit insulted by his surprised tone.

“Yep,” Cait said, popping the 'p'. She stood up, cleaning the chalk dust from her hands and inspected her work, “And a strong one at that.”

Stiles side-eyed Hale, seeing as he still looked completely surprised. Whatever a spark was, it seemed like something that Hale deemed too cool for Stiles to be. Which, _rude_.

“Don't look so surprised by what she said,” Stiles sassed, and Hale glared at him, “What’s so surprising about it?”

No one answered him for a moment: Hale just looked ready to slap him, which was unsurprising. Cait, though, looked funny at Stiles, before scowling at him.

“Not a she.” 

Stiles gaped at Cait. She – _he –_ looked like a woman, so much he was openly surprised it wasn’t so. Cait was petite, and, well, Stiles could see breasts. Even her… _his_ voice was soft and high like a girl. He blinked at Cait, who was still staring at him, before stammering.

“Uh, wow... Sorry, you really looked like– Sorry. So. He?”

Hale groaned loudly, and slapped a hand over his face. It would be comical, if he didn’t look so pained. Cait puffed her cheeks, and this time Stiles was sure he did see her eyes flashing white.

“I am _not_ a he.”

“… Eh?”

Stiles was utterly confused. He wondered if witches had a different identification, because if Cait wasn’t a she nor a he, what was Cait? Something tickled in the back of his mind, things he had read on the internet about gender identity, but he couldn’t remember them for the life of it. 

“Crap, look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m just going to uh, call you Cait? Is that okay?”

Cait just stared at Stiles for what seemed like an eternity, eyes white and dangerous, and Stiles had a strong feeling he was _this_ close of getting a taste of just how magical Cait really was. 

“Hm, at first I thought you were mocking me, but you’re not,” Cait commented, shrugging, eyes going back to their normal color, “I’m not a he or she. I’m both. Sometimes none at all.”

“Cait is gender fluid,” Hale interjected, looking aggravated, “Use gender neutral pronouns.”

“Uh… Okay…?” Stiles nodded slowly, filling that information for later. He would make good use of Google trying to make sense of what gender fluid meant. He just wished that Hale had given him a heads up about Cait.

The name seemed pretty self-explanatory, and Stiles remembered back when he was still discovering himself when it came to his sexuality and other things. His research had brushed into gender expression and other things that he still vaguely remembered. Stiles rubbed his neck, feeling a bit like an idiot for not having understood what Cait had meant before.

“I’m okay with ‘they’ and ‘them’,” Cait explained, while pulling a knife from their pants’ waist. Stiles tensed immediately.

“Okay… Cool. I’m sorry for misgendering you,” Stiles said, stepping away from Cait as much as the circle allowed him, “But I still don’t know why you need a knife, and I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

Cait inclined her head to the side, looking curious. “You’re really afraid.”

“Yeah, well, who’s trapped inside a magical circle, huh? Really, I’m vulnerable here.”

Cait blinked and looked at Hale, as if expecting an explanation, but Hale seemed to be just as puzzled. Stiles didn’t say anything; didn’t _want_ to. He had his reasons to be tense, and he didn’t feel like sharing them with a couple of strangers.

Hale extended a hand to Cait. “Give it to me, Cait,” and they handed him the knife with a shrug, “I’ll do it. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you; I’m just going to make one small incision on the crook of your arm. Is that acceptable?”

Stiles shook his head, stepping even further away, and pressing his back against the barrier. He could feel his neck getting clammy with sweat, and his entire body felt too heavy, too slow all of a sudden. He could feel his breath speeding up even as he tried to control it, and Stiles gulped, his mouth too dry, his mouth parched.

“No, that’s not fucking acceptable,” Stiles swore, hating how his voice was panicked even for his own ears. Hale was staring at Stiles with open surprise, and Cait looked stunned into stillness.

Hale raised one hand, before putting the knife on the floor, “It’s okay, we don’t need to do it now if you don’t want to.”

Stiles watched him warily, as Hale stepped away from the knife. As if on cue, Cait also retreated, standing farther away than Derek. They looked uncertain for a moment, before they nodded, pointing at the where they had disappeared before.

“You should break the barrier, Derek,” Cait said, before hurrying away. Stiles didn’t move an inch, not even when he heard the soft thud of a door closing. His hands were shaking.

It had been years since Stiles had to deal with panic attacks, way back at college still. Anxiety attacks, those he had more often, but it had been a while since he had an attack this bad. He tried to get a grip, stop his body from shaking, but he knew it was mostly useless. He took deep breaths – or tried to at least breathe a bit deeper – but it was still hard.

Hale hesitated, before he knelt down, pointing at the objects at the border of the circle.

“I will break it for you, okay? I just need to move one of them, and the barrier will fall,” Hale said, but didn’t move any further. Stiles realized he was waiting for Stiles permission, so he just nodded.

As soon as the piece moved, the barrier fell, and Stiles saw himself almost falling down. He had had all his body pressed back at the barrier and it vanishing was like leaning on a wall that didn’t exist all of a sudden. He righted himself, watching Hale closely, but he hadn’t moved, except for standing up. They eyed each other, as Stiles tried to get his heart to slow down. Adrenaline was a bitch.

“Are you feeling better?” Hale asked, and his stillness, his very effort to seem nonthreatening got Stiles even more on the edge.

“I just want to leave,” Stiles said, and he knew he would be mortified later at how shaken his voice was, “I don’t care about this shit, I want to leave.”

“We can leave,” Hale agreed easily, still not moving from his spot. 

“But?”

Hale sighed softly, averted his eyes.

“But this is the only way to let you see,” Hale amended, and Stiles stifled a sob. 

He didn’t want a knife anywhere near him, especially not when handled by someone he knew wasn’t human. Stiles stood in silence, as he tried to make his heart go back to a normal pace, and failing.

“I know you said no, and I won’t press you again. We can leave and we can figure out something else.”

“You just said there isn’t another way.”

“No. But maybe have someone you trust here,” Hale gave a tentative step forward and, seeing Stiles wasn’t screaming his head off, he kept slowly advancing.

He stopped at touching distance, but still far enough he wasn’t crowding Stiles. Stiles bit his lips, worrying on it until he tasted blood.

“I’m overreacting,” Stiles muttered, and Hale shook his head. One of his hands pressed against Stiles forearm gently. It grounded Stiles a bit, made his skin feel less tight.

“I don’t know what happened for you reacted like that, but I doubt it is an overreaction.”

“Yeah, right. Would it– Would it work if I cut myself?” His breath was slower, more controlled, and even if his hands still shook slightly, he was feeling less on the edge.

Hale inclined his head, shrugged. “I don’t think so, no. Not to my knowledge. It needs to be someone else. Someone who can already see.”

Stiles suppressed a whimper at that, and looked away, rubbing his chest, trying to unknot the tension there. 

“Look, for what’s worth, I give you my word I won’t hurt you,” Hale said. Hale waited until Stiles looked at him, and repeated, while looking at Stiles’ eyes, “If you let me do it, I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Stiles mulled over it for a moment. It seemed unlikely Hale would hurt him, but rationality had no place when such visceral emotions were into play. Stiles still had phantom feelings over the knife going inside his body, the pain of his skin and muscle being sliced open, and that wasn’t something you forgot easily. It had been so many years back, but Stiles still remembered the pain and glowing eyes. Seeing a knife in such a setup only made him remember things he would rather keep buried.

Still, Stiles knew he needed to have the ritual done. It seemed too much for just a prank, and Hale looked sincere. Stiles stared at him warily, before nodding. He supposed his partner wasn’t so prone to try and stab him.

“You… You can do it,” Stiles muttered, nodding his head with a stiff jerk, “You better not be playing me, I swear to God–”

“I am not,” Hale reassured, and Stiles glared at him. “We can do it another time,” 

Stiles huffed, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. He felt naked. Unprotected.

“Look, you said it yourself, it needs to be done, yeah? So you do it. And God helps you if you mess it up.”

With another sigh and a nod, Hale gestured for Stiles to step inside the circle again, and Stiles did. He closed it, and Stiles felt his heartbeat spiking at the feeling of being trapped, but, as if he could sense Stiles’ growing panic, Hale muttered “Relax, it’s okay”, before calling on Cait.

They came back to the living room looking a bit sheepish, but Cait quickly went back to their previous energy.

“Are you sure about it?” Cait muttered, shaking their head, “I just need a bit of blood. Just some tiny drops. Then I can perform the ritual.”

“Ugh, why blood?” Stiles still groaned pitifully. He wasn’t a fan of blood. Especially his blood. Even worse when he had had the displeasure of seeing his own blood spilled way too often. Still he nodded, gesturing for Cait to go on.

“Blood is powerful,” Cait said simply, “I’m gonna start now. It’s going to be quick, pinky promise!” 

Stiles grumbled under his breath, but extended his arm when Hale held out his hand. His grasp was firm on Stiles' wrist, but not overly so. He looked at Stiles intently, nodding, as if to give him some reassurance. Stiles started to smile back but was startled out of it by Cait's chanting. He looked over to them and gaped.

Their eyes were pure white, and they floated about two inches in the air.

Stiles would have freaked out at that, but he had seen more terrifying things in his life. Things with fur and fangs and blood. Still, it was amazing to see a tiny person like Cait project an aura of full power like they were in that moment. He just watched, open mouthed and amazed, as Cait called on things in an odd language, and Stiles might not know anything about magic, but he knew in his bones that the words Cait was saying were old and powerful. He let them wash over him, felt himself sway a bit, like he could almost see what they meant. Their meaning felt like an aftertaste in the back of his tongue, like it was almost touching his skin, and it felt incredible. He was pulled out of it by a soft tug on his hand. Hale didn't step inside the circle, just his other hand inside of it, and pressed the blade on the crook of Stiles' arm.

Stiles wanted to ask why he could go inside, but Stiles couldn't step out, but the words never came out. Hale moved the knife in one swift movement, and blood welled up immediately. Stiles didn't feel anything but the cold of the metal; the pain never hit, and he looked, half dazed, as his blood trailed down his arm and dripped on the floor. It sizzled, like the floor was burning, and disappeared without leaving a trace. Stiles looked at Hale, who looked slightly dazed himself, and tried to make sense of what had just happened. He was still holding Stiles' arm.

It was all over in what seemed like a minute, though. The chanting stopped abruptly, with Cait clapping their hands together and making a small booming sound. There was an unnatural stillness after that, like everything was suspended in the air and waiting for something else to happen. The seconds ticked by, and Stiles felt something surge up his chest. For one embarrassing moment, he thought he was going to throw up. He didn't though.

He passed out.


	4. One Step Forward; Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Graphic description of wounds and a dead body.

Stiles came back to his senses with a start. He blinked awake, sitting up, as he looked around. He lay on a couch, and he felt confused.

He was back at the precinct, in the breakroom. It took him few seconds to recall what had happened, but he still didn’t have any idea how he came to be here, and not back at Cait’s apartment. With a groan, Stiles rubbed his eyes, feeling the beginnings of an oncoming headache pounding inside his skull.

“You okay?” Hale asked, as he entered the room, looking at Stiles with concerned eyes.

Stiles nodded and sat properly, swinging his legs off the couch. Everything felt weird, a bit unreal. It reminded Stiles of all the times he drank too much cheap vodka.

“Yeah, I’m… What happened? I don’t remember coming here.”

Hale shrugged and walked to stand by the counter. If Stiles didn’t know better, he would say that Hale, looked, well. _Awkward_.

“You wouldn’t; you were knocked out cold.”

Stiles _stared_ because… If he was knocked out cold…

“Did you carry me here?” Stiles asked, not even bothering to keep the shock out of his voice. The mere idea was just too much to entertain.

Hale stiffed, looking even more awkward and defensive than he had a moment before. Which was to say he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Cait had another client; they needed the apartment free,” Hale grumbled, before busying himself with the tap, filling a cup with water.

Stiles wasn’t sure what to answer to that; he was torn between burning shame at being _carried by Hale_ , and this weird thing that felt too much like _endearment_ for him to even entertain.

Then Hale turned and offered him the glass of water.

“… Are you okay?” Stiles blurted, and Hale frowned at him, “Scratch that, am _I_ okay? Did anything go wrong?”

Hale looked like he was considering if everything _was_ alright with Stiles, because it seemed otherwise.

“No…? You’re fine, according to Cait, though a headache is to be expected. You aren’t supposed to go and try to test if the ritual was really successful until you’ve slept. Something about settling the magic,” Hale made a puzzled face at Stiles, “Why are you asking me if it went wrong? Are you feeling anything…?”

“No! It’s just… You carried me and now you’re giving me water? You’re being nice to me, when you almost strong armed me into that crappy ritual?” Stiles said bitterly, and almost regretted saying anything, as Hale(you didn’t finish this sentence) .

Stiles didn't feel like apologizing, not when he didn’t do anything wrong – if nothing, he was the one who was screwed over. But Hale looked stricken, and Stiles only mentioned it out of shame for having passed out and how he had panicked. Hale had never shown particular warmth towards Stiles but he looked sincerely affected by what Stiles said. In hindsight, Stiles realized maybe Hale should have stopped when Stiles said no, but he can see how Cait and Hale wouldn’t know not to push. Maybe Stiles should have more tactful broaching the subject, but too late. He wasn’t feeling very charitable either, not when he had such insane day.

Hale hesitated for a moment, before pushing away from the counter, and Stiles felt himself standing up to stop him before he left.

"I apologize for what happened. I will talk to Morrell, so you can go home, when you're feeling better," Hale stated, voice flat, and Stiles managed to unglue his tongue enough to say something.

"Hey, hey Hale, no wait.” Stiles put a hand on Hale’s arm for good measure. Hale glanced at it, but it didn’t look particularly threatening and he didn’t push away as well. "Look man, thanks. I mean, I feel slightly emasculated after being carried like a damsel in distress, and I’m maybe I’m kinda bitter over– Over how I reacted but yeah. Thanks. For the water as well."

Hale’s frown relaxed a little, but he still had that weird intense look on his face.

“I didn’t realize… I didn’t notice your reaction until it was too late.”

Stiles sighed, and slumped on the couch, feeling less than inclined to forthcome any information about his past. The silence stretched between them, and Hale seemed to catch on Stiles unwillingness fast; he averted his eyes, giving a small step away.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles sighed.

“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay?

 

and Stiles gave him a tentative lopsided grin.

"I have work to do, Stiles." Was all that Hale said nothing elsereplied, before leaving the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Still, Stiles didn’t miss the hint of a smile as the corner of Hale’s lips before he left.

Feeling oddly satisfied with himself, Stiles collapsed back on the couch, feeling his head pound. Hale was right; he did have a growing headache. Rolling the glass in his hands, Stiles pondered about what Allison had said, and how Hale had been the entire day. He wasn’t sure what to think just yet but, for some reason, he couldn’t keep his lips from tugging up.

##

There were a few things that Stiles found out about his new job in his first week. One, his co-workers were apparently a tight-knit family, and it meant that his first day perception of sobriety was completely mistaken. Boyd really wasn’t one to talk much, but when he did talk, it was usually to make completely on point remarks that left Stiles in stitches. Allison was really the nicest person he ever met in his life, and Stiles was best friends with Scott-Unicorn-and-Rainbows-McCall. She was also beyond fierce. Danny was smart and witty, but also a huge flirt, which made Stiles’ days fun.

And Hale… Well.

If he had originally thought Hale was taciturn and moody, that actually proved to be truth. Stiles was _right_. Hale wasn’t much for small talk (or at least not with Stiles),;he was always at work before Stiles, and he was efficient to the point of ridiculousness. Stiles never had seen anyone filing reports that complete so fast, but apparently that was a thing Hale did.

After his little chat with Allison, and his experience at Cait’s, he noticed other things about Hale as well. He was caring in his own way, and he apparently liked buying snacks for the entire department (Morrell included). Surprisingly, Hale also had a sense of humor that Stiles enjoyed. Hale was also not as… Callous towards Stiles as he first expected, though they did argue enough to make Allison look exasperated.

Stiles was biting the end of his pen, when he saw Hale picking up the phone from the corner of his eye. The man listened to whomever was talking, face serious and intent, before nodding and replying in a professional tone that told Stiles they had a job to be done.

“Hey, new guy. There’s a body on the morgue that Morrell wants us to give a look,” Hale said, the moment he hung up. “You okay to go?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and put the pen down. Ever since he had passed out after the _Dilucidam_ spell— that's what that entire ritual was called, according to Cait — Hale had been weirdly careful around him. Stiles had expected mockery for fainting, but Hale seemed mostly worried about him. Cait had assured the two of them that Stiles was fine, and that passing out was mostly his brain trying to familiarize itself to the new things he could _see_. And there were so many things Stiles had been missing out on, it was slightly overwhelming in the beginning. Still, Hale had warmed up to Stiles a little, which he supposed was good.

“I'm fine,” Stiles said, “Ready for some action.”

Hale scoffed, but a tiny bit of a smile played at his lips.

“Isaac will be waiting for us; he performed the autopsy.” Stiles nodded, standing up and picking his jacket,

“He’s a M.E, right?” Stiles asked, as he adjusted the straps of his shoulder holster, before checking his gun. He picked up his badge and phone, and pocketed them.

“Yeah. He works directly under the OCME, but he’s the one responsible to give us our cases. Anything that might be ours goes through Isaac’s hands first.”

Stiles nodded, as they made their way out of the department. Hale took the stairs, making Stiles groan inside at the needless use of energy that that meant. He didn’t say anything though; he had a feeling that it would win him one of Hale’s judgy eyebrows.

God knew he managed to get it a lot, despite their short time as partners.

“Huh, kinda of a big deal, then?”

“He’s been a deputy for the Chief Medical Examiner for the past four years,” Hale said calmly, “There’s a pretty good chance he’ll succeed him once Deaton retires.”

They walked through the precinct, leaving through a backdoor that Stiles knew from his previous tour around that gave access to the parking lot.

“What did they say about the case?”

“Young woman, early twenties. Found dead in the dumpster. Murder, possible sexual assault.”

“Rape? Isn’t SVU into it?”

“They _were_ the first called to the scene,” Hale grumbled, as they crossed the parking lot, “Isaac jumped in once the MLI on scene requested an autopsy on the victim. Body was found yesterday night, but Isaac only managed to call us now. We’ll probably hear from the SVU; they’ll give us what they got, luckily without much prompting.”

Ah yes, the good ol’ department rivalry, Stiles thought bitterly, as he looked about the parking lot for their car. He didn’t know which one it was, until Hale pulled a car key from his pocket, and pressed the alarm button. A unmarked black Dodge Charger Pursuit flashed its headlights.

Stiles whistled low, touching the car shining painting, and Hale threw Stiles a genuine, borderline _cute_ smirk. Stiles ducked his head, to avoid commenting on it, and touched the cold metal of the car’s hood. He always liked the smooth lines of the Pursuit, and way it looked angry, but not overly so. In a way, Stiles thought amused, much like his partner.

“Nice, Hale. This baby looks brand new,” Stiles commented, getting inside. It was surprisingly new inside too, with the upholstery still smelling like new car, “Is it the 2015 model?”

“Yeah, it is,” Hale said, sounding pleased. Well, he _looked_ pleased as well, Stiles noticed. “They had to retire the Crown Vic I used to drive; I totaled in a pursuit. Morrell got this one for us.”

“Totaled? Why Hale, you sure you don’t want to hand over the keys?”

Hale rolled his eyes at Stiles, which would have been more effective if he wasn’t still smirking, like the memory of that particular crash amused him.

“No, I drive,” Hale pulled some sunglasses and put them on in the most dramatic fashion. It would, except he actually pulled it off, the asshole, “And if you want to know, I got the perp.”

##

Morgues are possibly on Stiles’ Top Five List of Least Favorite Place to Be, someone right below graveyards and hospitals, but most certainly above Target around Black Friday. He had war flashbacks on that last one; one time to _never_ again.

Still, while he could avoid Target all year long if he so desired, he couldn’t avoid morgues on his line of work.

Stiles made a face as he and Hale walked through the corridor of the medical examiner main office. He didn’t have a particular issue with seeing bodies; he had seen too many of those on his years on the Force, and before that, in high school. But it didn’t mean that Stiles enjoyed seeing mangled corpses. And even if he was, to some degree, used to it, there was apparently a part of him that would always be rattled by the sight of it.

It was probably the part of him that was reminded of people Stiles cared about, and he saw dead in the most violent ways possible. Taking a deep breath, he tried to keep his mind off of some of the things that some injuries reminded him. Hale side-eyed him, frowning.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, peachy,” Stiles replied, keeping his face as neutral as possible, “Why you ask?”

“Because for a moment you looked like you wanted to bolt.”

Stiles let out a small laugh that sounded forced even to his own ears.

“I’m not a fan of corpses.”

Dere stopped walking and put a hand on Stiles’ arm. He was frowning, as if he was annoyed by something, though that was a bit of Stiles general perception when it came to Hale’s mood.

“Have you done this before?”

“Done what?”

“Morgue. Dealing with bodies.”

There was a lick of anger burning low on his stomach, making Stiles want to lash out at Hale’s assumption he was a inexperienced. He gave Hale a long look, trying to convey his annoyance and contempt at Hale’s words.

“I’ve been a cop for four years, and a detective for one now,” Stiles said, “What do you think?”

Hale raised both his eyebrows at that, but he didn’t back down or looked apologetic in the slightest. He just stared at Stiles, keeping his mask of annoyance.

“I don’t think anything; it’s not like I know anything about you. I’m asking because I don’t want a rookie throwing up in the room. I can do this without you.”

“I’m sure you can, Hale, but you won’t.”

Stiles walked right ahead at that, and he heard Hale sighing as if it was painful to deal

“And I’m _not_ a rookie.” Stiles added angry, before pushing inside the door marked ‘Autopsy - Room 0’.

Morgues were all the same; strong smell of death, formaldehyde, and blood, and a frankly disturbing assortment of tools for the autopsy. That room was smaller than other Stiles had been to before, with just one autopsy table on the wall, followed by a steel benchtop. There was the whole thing on the opposite side, there was a table, with a laptop, and several files, with a cabinet. It was

A tall guy was standing next to the table, dressed in green scrubs, and looked at them when they arrived. There was the name Dr. Lahey on the breast of his coat. So that was the Isaac guy then.

“Oh, hey Derek. I was waiting for you,” the guy said, looking at Hale over Stiles’ shoulder.

He smiled at Hale, at it was a smile slightly more on the side of intimate than Stiles expected. Hale went to Lahey, clapped him on the shoulder, and they shared what seemed an entire conversation based on looks. Stiles had seen Hale looking _softer_ around people, like the way he would look at Allison, or the gentle intimacy of his chats with Boyd. But it was weird to see, especially as it vanished when Hale turned to Stiles. His face automatically drew up, looking way less open, and it bothered Stiles to no end. Granted, he was a stranger, but still.

“This is Detective Stilinski,” Hale said, and Isaac nodded, cleaning his hand on his scrubs before extending it to Stiles, “And this is Isaac Lahey.”

“Ah, yes, Derek told me about you,” Isaac said in a certain tone that told Stile that it wasn’t just a figure of language. Stiles threw Hale look.

“I’m sure he did,” Stiles replied, and Hale didn’t even had the decency of looking ashamed.

“Ahn, hah. Yeah,” Isaac coughed, looking confused and embarrassed for some reason, “So Stilinski...”

“Stiles. You can call me Stiles.”

“Oh, okay. Stiles. I’m Isaac. Anyway, let me show you two what I found here.”

The trio walked to one of the tables, where a body was covered by a white sheet. Isaac pulled it back, revealing the body of a young woman. Her skin had that curious grey appearance that the lack of blood flowing through the veins cause, and her face was mess of cut and bruises. She had a split lip, and a black eye, and her throat was bruised, with the clear shape of fingers. She had been brutally beaten before she died.

“Crap, they did a number on her…” Stiles muttered, as Isaac folded the white sheet below her breasts. Her neck and chest were also marred with abrasions and wounds.

“Yeah, she has multiple contusions. She was beaten quite fiercely, both with fist and kicks, and also with some sort of improvised weapon. Something made of metal, long and thin. Mark left on her sides and legs suggest it was a fire iron.”

Stiles shook his head, appalled.

“There’s more, though,” Isaac warned, before pulling the sheet lower.

“Jesus...” Groaned Hale, turning his head a little, like the image was too much even for him.

It took a moment for Stiles to make sense of what he was seeing. He let out an involuntary gasp when he did make sense, making a half step back in shock.

She was bisected, a neat incision that cut her right at his navel. He could see her insides, the dark red of burned skin and muscles, and a faint smell of charred meat and her insides.

“What was the weapon?” Stiles asked, leaning forward to inspect the wounds. The looked cauterized, “This doesn’t look like claws or whatever.”

“The wound suggests a sharp metal object. Like a long sword. My personal bet is a two-handed great sword. Big, sharp and capable of inflicting such a massive damage. Still, the strength necessary to make this?” Isaac shook his head, crossing his arm, “Whatever it was,

Above and low the cut, there were runes carved on the girls skin, symbols Stiles had never seen before. They looked equality ancient and evil, like a lost language no human should be looking at. His vision blurred as he looked at it, and Stiles staggered, feeling suddenly dizzy. He felt a strong hand closing on his elbow, and looked up to see Hale peering at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Ah, yeah, just… Everything is kinda…” He trailed off, rubbing his eyes.

“I wouldn’t stare at them if I were you,” Isaac commented, covering her again, “Those runes, they still hold power. I’m mostly immune to them, but I’m not sure what effects they’ll have on someone who’s human.”

Stiles was still swaying on his feet, with Hale supporting him by his elbow.

“What, and you aren’t?”

Hale made a displeased noise, at his comment. Isaac blinked, as if surprised by the comment, and shrugged.

“I have proper protections in place; hopefully Hale will get you to have some made for you. They are useful in this line of work,” Isaac said, without really answering, Stiles noticed.

He thought of pressuring the point, but Hale squeezed his arm, before letting go. It only would be a clearer ‘be quiet’, if Hale had said so out loud.

“He had his ritual last week, actually. Anyway, cause of death?” Hale asked, voice somber. Stiles pulled his phone to take notes about what he was seeing, though he knew that Isaac would probably send them a copy of his own report. Still, he wanted to have things to fill his notebooks with.

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t cause by that injury,” Isaac said, sounding puzzled, he pushed the girl’s arm, and pointed at an injury at her side, “Someone punctured her heart with a pointy object. Also the blow was incredibly precise. They managed to get it right between her ribs.”

“Hm. That puncture, those markings...,” Hale said, “were they made prior the bisection cut or…?”

“The markings were definitely prior. I’m not an specialist when it comes to those; you’ll have to look for Lydia for help in this regard, but I’m almost sure some tem are of keep the victim from passing out. They really wanted her to suffer.”

Isaac motioned to the middle of the girl’s body.

“The bisecting though came before the puncturing. She… She was probably alive and conscious when that happened.”

Hale nodded, as Stiles kept his eyes averted from the markings. It annoyed him that he couldn’t study the injures himself, but it was better than passing out again. Still, he thought that the _Dilucidam_ spell meant he would be able to see things without that happening to him.

“What freaking beasts…” Stiles muttered under his breath, low enough he thought Hale wouldn’t hear, but by the way he was side-eyeing Stiles, he had, “What else do you have for us,” Stiles asked, trying to find something he could help with.

“Ah, there’s something else. There are clear signs of sexual violence. I tried to find any material that could help us, but there was nothing. Still, I was able to collect some residual skin from under her nails; I’m already running tests to find out what the attacker was. Still, I feel there’s more to this than a simple murder.”

Hale nodded, rubbing his beard, while he inspected the symbols. “They had a lot of work just to dispose of a prostitute,” He commented, thinking “She screwed them up.”

“They were teaching a lesson. Making a point, y’know?” Stiles mused, making notes about it. That wasn’t just eliminating a probably, that was sending a message to _other_ people, “Maybe she was trying to blackmail them?”

Hale nodded, finally looking up from the symbols and stepping back.

“Seems like a good line to start on.”

“You know what bother me,” Isaac commented, as he adjusted scrub pants, “They wanted her to suffer, but this? Bisecting people? I’ve only seen hunters doing this kinda thing, but… This doesn’t look like hunters’ work.”

That picked Stiles’ attention. He had heard of hunters before, long ago, and they often meant bad news.

“Hunters?” Stiles asked, taken aback “Like those people who hunt werewolves?”

Both Isaac and Hale looked sharply at Stiles for that, though while Isaac looked almost fearful, Hale looked furious. Well. More than usual.

“Yes… Like those hunters,” Isaac said in a cautious tone that only made Stiles more weird out, “She isn’t a werewolf though.”

Hale was still looking at Stiles a bit too keenly for Stiles’ comfort. He tried – and failed – to not squirm under the scrutiny.

“No?”

“No. I managed to identify her. Her name is Naya Lopez. She was a siren. I ran the DNA and SIP, and they both matched. We have 100% certainty about her identity.”

Stiles scratched his chin, processing the information. He had thought the girl had been human; she _looked_ human, though Stiles knew that meant little for supernatural creatures. In the last week, Stiles had had the time to check the online Compendium that Chief Morrell had mentioned. To his delight, it was a huge database of all things supernatural, with such a volume of information Stiles lost one night of sleep exploring it. He knew he had come across the term SIP while studying.

“Supernatural Identification Process,” Hale explained, and Stiles gave him a sideway glance, wondering if Hale was, once again, treating him like the rookie. His tone was devoid of contempt though, so Stiles let it go, “Okay… I guess this is it, for now. Send us the report when you can, Isaac.”

Isaac nodded, and they fared their goodbyes. Isaac and Hale gave each other’s half a hug, before they left. Stiles refrained for commenting for long enough so they were away from the room and already into the parking lot.

“Y’know, what angel face inside these is, huh? I noticed that he didn’t answer me when I asked if he wasn’t human,” Stiles said, as he adjusted the seat belt, “What _it_ is then?”

Hale seemed to be physically refraining himself from saying something scathing to Stiles, which already put him on the edge.

“Don’t _ever_ say that again.”

Stiles startled at Hale’s voice. He was almost snarling as it was, and Stiles was seriously not expecting that.

“Say what again?”

“You know what. _‘It’_. Don’t you ever say that again, you hear me?”

“What the hell, man. No need to get pissed.”

“I don’t know if you’re purposefully rude,” He commented, as he drove the car out of the parking lot, “or just plain ignorant.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, shocked at the sharpness of Hale’s comment. He was glaring straight ahead, at the road, but his fingers were white on the steering wheel.

“Wow, what the– Rude? Is asking rude?”

Hale glanced at him, incredulous.

“I– What? What the… I didn’t know there was, like an etiquette of the supernatural world, or something! You could just have told me.”

Hale made a sharp turn and Stiles held himself against the car’s dashboard, glaring at Hale for the move.

“Yes, asking is rude,” Hale said in a clipped, measured tone, “Referring to Isaac as– as _an animal_ is rude. You can’t be that much of an idiot.”

Stiles gestured around, flailing a bit. Okay, so maybe ‘it’ had been a bad call. But who could blame Stiles; he didn’t even know _what_ Isaac was in the first place.

“I was just a speech slip, Jesus! This isn’t common knowledge!”

“Yes, it is,” Hale made a sharp turn, enough to through Stiles against the car’s door. Stiles gave him the evil eye, “This is why I say you’re a rookie. Morrell always made a point of hiring people that had previous knowledge, but you know _nothing_.”

“Woah, hold up with Jon Snow’ing me, okay? I do have previous knowledge.”

Hale scoffed, clearly unconvinced. Stiles felt like slapping that stupid look out of his face.

“Yeah, you know what? Maybe I don’t know how to exchange fucking pleasantries or whatever, I was too busy learning my shit by trying to stay alive.”

Hale didn’t reply to that, just looked weird at Stiles, who basically refused to elaborate by crossing his arm and looking away. He knew he was probably coming across as childish, but he couldn’t care less. Stiles just let Hale drive them back to the precinct while he steamed in his own silent anger.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [**Jacqui**](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com), for being my brave beta, and hearing my never ending panics and laments about this fic. You're the bestest! Also another round of special thanks for [**Eva**](apinkducky.tumblr.com), [**Jenny**](http://detectivesterek.tumblr.com), and everybody on the **Big Bang chatroom** for the unending support and patience. You guys are amazing! 
> 
> One thousand thanks to my artist, **Katherine** , who's a super talented sweetheart!


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